


you're too young to be lost

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Category: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, End of the Clone Wars, F/M, Force Choking, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rey is a Kenobi theory, Siege of Mandalore, Sith, Sith Obi-Wan, The Clone Wars - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: When Satine Kryze died in his arms something broke Obi-Wan Kenobi.And the only way he could possibly heal was to destroy...everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work is entirely a "so the end of Clone Wars is really effing sad. And I want to make it sadder" thing. 
> 
> I was never happy with how they handled Satine's death and Obi's apparent lack of mourning for her and while I would love for them to end up married and happy, surrounded by snarky ginger babies, I know it will never happen. And I have always loved the thought of Obi Falling more than anything. 
> 
> Imagine if it'd been him and not Anakin, going Dark Side...Planets would burn. Whole races would go extinct. 
> 
> And the Alliance would never have stood a chance. 
> 
> So yeah...this is a bit strange. And also my very first Prequel fic! Woohoo! 
> 
> It's long. But I REALLY hate doing multi-chapter fics these days.

_Dancing to your lover's beat_  
_Beating on heavy feet_  
_Working on a dream you make_  
_When you made enough to ride the wave_  
  
_Elijah, you're too young to be lost_  
_Elijah, don't fade out on the cross_  
_Elijah, I don't know_  
_What it is you need to do_

_-_ Matthew and the Atlas

* * *

 

“Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore is dead.” 

Mace Windu’s voice is weary, the words falling like stones from his lips and Anakin wonders how many times the man has said something like this in this very chamber. How many times  _ today _ he’s had to announce that yet another one of their friends-their loved ones-is dead. 

“How?” 

Ahsoka’s voice is shaky and her fingers tremble when they brush his hand; he spares her a quick glance, sending comfort through their bond, before turning back to the Council.

Only three of them are present today: Mace, his body slumped in exhaustion on his chair, the cast he wears tinged a dirty grey from whatever planet he’s come from; Kit Fisto, his hands clenched tight on the arms of his chair and his black eyes glassy with what Anakin is beginning to think might be shock; Ki-Adi Mundi is not seated but standing at the transparisteel windows, looking out from the temple towards the bustle of Coruscant. He rests his forehead against his arm on the glass, his slender body radiating grief.

Grief and weariness.

That is all the Jedi seem to be good at these days. 

Anakin’s eyes drift towards the empty chair a few over from Mace. 

“How?” he repeats Ahsoka’s question, the cybernetic fingers of his right hand clenching. “ _ Who _ ?”

He doesn’t tell them about the cold silence echoing in his head where once his Master had glowed. 

He doesn’t tell them about the echoes of pain and anger and  _ hate _ he’s still feeling, hours after the bond fell silent. 

Doesn’t tell them that he knows why that particular chair all of the Councilors are ignoring is empty. 

_ Master? Can you hear me? Master...please... _

Nothingness resonates back through his skull and he hides a wince, stroking a finger along the back of Ahsoka’s hand for a brief moment, drawing as much comfort from his Padawan as he gives her right back.

“Maul,” Mace bites out and for a second there is nothing but fury radiating from him; Anakin’s breath hitches in his throat and Ahsoka shivers at his side. 

“Maul?” she asks, her voice cracking and she glances up at him, her beads chiming gently along her montrals. “But he’s-he’s....”

“Dead,” Anakin snarls, some of the old anger for the loss of Qui-Gon Jinn coloring his words. “He’s  _ dead.  _ Obi-Wan killed him.”

Ki-Adi’s shoulders heave on a sigh but he doesn’t turn from his perusal of the planet below them. “It would seem we were mistaken on a certain Sith Lord’s demise, Knight Skywalker,” the Master says, his normally elegant voice just as tired as the man himself seems to be. “We seem to be making a great many mistakes like this, these days.”

Anakin tries to keep the anger under control. Tries to bring the old desire for revenge to heel.

Tries. 

Fails. 

“He killed Satine?” he asks and his voice cracks. But not from exhaustion. Not from screaming commands to the 501st **,** for days on end without rest or respite. Not with anything that he can explain to this small group of men. 

They’d lecture him if they knew what he was feeling in this moment. 

Only Ahsoka understands. 

She knows what Satine meant to her grand-Master. 

Knows what her death could potentially do to the man they both love so very, very dearly.

And that empty chair...

“Where is my Master, Mace.”

It is not a question. It is a demand.

And Anakin Skywalker knows that if the situation was different, he’d be booted out of the Council chamber for being so improper and banished to the sandiest planet on the Outer Rim with just his boot knife for company. 

Mace Windu winces and closes his eyes, apparently unable-or unwilling-to answer the question. 

“Mace-” Anakin snarls, taking a step forward, the coldness from that empty part of his mind radiating outwards and numbing his limbs. 

“He has Fallen, Skywalker,” Kit Fisto says finally, his voice so quiet Anakin almost misses the words.

His eyes widen as he freezes; he doesn’t feel Ahsoka’s hand on his wrist, seeking to keep him locked in place. He doesn’t hear her soft mental-voice calling his name, her love for him overwhelming their bond, its single gold thread shining starkly in his mind.

A counterpart to the darkness filling the space where Obi-Wan Kenobi had once glowed, sharing his headspace for nearly 15 years. 

Kit Fisto’s eyes meet his from across the chamber and the Jedi Master sighs, saying once more, “Obi-Wan Kenobi has Fallen to the Dark Side, Anakin. He is...He is lost to us now.” 

_ No _ . 

**

The Council sends him to Mandalore on a cursory mission that really could be taken care of by a Knight. Maybe even an elder Padawan. 

He raises an eyebrow at Mace when his mission orders are handed to him after the Council meeting, but stays silent, letting some of his humor leak through his shields and into the Force. 

Mace simply smirks and squeezes his shoulder, before sweeping from the chambers and off on whatever mission he himself has been given by Yoda.

Obi-Wan doesn’t ask questions anymore, not when it comes to Mandalore and the Council’s sideways orders. 

Asking questions might mean the missions would stop.

And that  _ cannot _ be. 

So he goes to Mandalore. 

“Why, Master Kenobi, when I asked the Council for a neutral party to help with this trade agreement between the Mon Calamari, I never expected  _ you _ would be the Jedi to grace us with their presence.”

Obi-Wan turns at the cool voice in the doorway that leads to the lower gardens of Sundari Palace and tries to hide his grin, even as he offers a courteous half-bow in the newcomer’s direction. 

“Ah, Duchess Satine,” he says, his voice just as cool and detached as the woman gazing down at him from the upper steps. “I apologize if my presence offends. If you wish, I could ask the Council to send another in my stead. Perhaps Master Vos would be able to negotiate these terms for you?”

A flicker of humor appears in her pale eyes for the briefest moment and a gold brow arches in his direction. “Master Vos is...not who I would expect to arrive for a  _ peaceful  _ trade agreement, Master Kenobi. Rather, I think he’d make a bigger mess of it than you inevitably will. Your teasing is most improper,” she says, but he doesn’t miss the laughter in her voice. 

Or the faint flush that creeps up her neck when he smiles and jogs up the few steps in her direction to offer her his arm in assistance down into the gardens. 

“I suppose you will have to do, in the meantime. I will warn my people to have fire extinguishers at the ready, should things go awry as they always do when you are on Mandalore,” she sighs, accepting the proffered limb with a put-upon sniff and roll of her eyes. “You couldn’t have made more of an attempt at cleaning up before coming to the palace, Obi?” she whispers, leaning subtly into him as he walks back down the stairs, with her at his side. “You look like you’ve just come out of a trench on Geonosis.”

He cringes, looking over his shoulder towards her guards and the two handmaidens she has brought and says quietly as he turns forward, “You’re not far off the mark there, my dear.” She glances at him from the corner of her eye and her fingers tense on his arm as she senses some of the battle fatigue he tries so hard to keep from her doorstep. 

This war has worn them all down and the more he comes to Mandalore, the more she sees of it in his eyes.

In the scars hidden away by the robes he wears. 

“I will be sure to have a bath drawn for you before dinner then, my dear Jedi,” she murmurs, fingers stroking the backs of his knuckles ever so lightly. “It will never do to have the Negotiator at my table, dusty and smelling of Clones.” 

He chokes back a laugh at that, helping her onto the stone pathway that winds through the garden in leisurely loops; he sighs in silent relief when she waves her entourage back, telling them in Mando’a to let her speak with him in private. 

“I did not have time to change my robes or utilize my fresher when I returned to Coruscant yesterday. I’m afraid I had been off-planet for well over a month and as such, the robes I had kept packed on my shuttle are not entirely...suitable for a State affair. I apologize profusely, my Lady,” he says, moving to tuck her hand tighter in the crook of his arm-most improper; their fingers tangle tightly together and her scent threatens to overwhelm him, despite the flowers pressing in on the path they walk. “I came as soon as the Council released me.”

She smiles at that and leans her head against his shoulder. “I suppose I shall have to forgive you for the smell then. I have missed you, Obi-Wan. I am glad Master Windu was kind enough to send you for such a trivial thing,” she murmurs.  **T** hey’re deep in the garden now, near the rear wall, and the plants here are as ancient as the palace towering over them. As ancient as the throne the woman beside him commands. “I was worried I…” she hesitates, her fingers tightening around his almost to the point of hurting but he doesn’t mind the pain. 

Her fear though…

That, he will always regret.

She swallows heavily and whispers, almost too quiet for him to hear, “the past few months...I feared every day I’d get news of your death. Of your falling on some godsforsaken Outer Rim planet and I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. Or hold you again. I would never-never be able to bear that Ben.”

He shivers, eyes closing as they pause beneath the wide leaves of a palm. For a moment he is not on Mandalore. For a moment he is fighting, surrounded by dead Clones-his brothers in arms-and screaming droids.

For a moment...it seems like peace will never come again. 

“It has been so long since I haven’t had to fight. I’ve forgotten what peace even means,” he sighs, the exhaustion he’s been keeping at bay for the past few weeks finally starting to crash around him; the Force groans, strained as he tries to keep his shields in place. Tries to keep upright. 

Satine grunts when he sways, hands trembling around hers and she curses in Mando’a, leading him quickly towards a worn stone bench tucked against the wall. 

“Sit, Obi,” she says, forcing him gently down and running her fingers through his hair for a moment, stroking it back from his face and temples. “Sit and breathe. Find your center again. Breathe, you’re safe here.” 

He snorts and lowers his head into his hands, barely paying her any attention as she drops to her knees before him in a pool of embroidered silks and leathers. Her hands rest on his thighs, warm anchor points that help him focus. Help him remember that he is not fighting. That he is not dying-at least, not in this moment. 

She anchors him. As she always has, since the days when they were children and his Master kept watch over them with a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“Safe,” he groans, his jaw clenched tight on the silent scream he’s trying to keep locked in place; his eyes are closed on the visions of blood and dirt. Of his grand-Padawan, wounded and deathly pale in Anakin’s arms. 

Of Rex and Cody coming to blows over something simple, before collapsing in each other’s arms, sobbing. 

“I’ve forgotten what that word even means, Satine,” he whispers, and there are tears leaking from his closed eyes to trail through his beard. 

Her hands rub small circles on his thighs for a moment and she sighs, before leveraging herself up and easing between his legs; her chest presses against his, her heart beating steadily and he wills his own to match pace with hers. He shivers, forcing his muscles to relax, forcing his mind to let go of his fear. 

It is a struggle, something he does not like thinking on, as the war worsens and more of his friends die.

Satine murmurs, a constant stream of Mando’a endearments and his name, every version she has ever called him. And he takes a deep breath. And another.

And he eases into her warm touch.

“That’s it my love. Focus on me. Let me help you remember what peace is supposed to feel like, you fool of a stubborn Jedi,” she whispers, hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. “Come here, Ben.”

His eyes flutter open as she pulls his head down and he groans when her lips press so very gently into his. 

“Satine,” he says, his own hands rising to grip her elbows, steadying her against his chest, pulling her tighter into his body. He longs to deepen the kiss, but he holds himself back. Lets her lead him. As she always has. “Someone might see…”

“I don’t care,” she says, a bit of a growl in her voice now and her fingers are tangling in his hair, holding him in place. Her hands are callused, the blasters he’s forced her to train with leaving subtle marks none of her people would ever expect to find. He cherishes them, as much as he cherishes the feel of her warm body rubbing against his own. 

“I don’t care,” she says again when his eyes start to close and he half-heartedly tries to pull away. She yanks his hair lightly and shakes him, nipping at his bottom lip in warning. “You’re here, with me, and that is all that matters, right now.” Pale eyes flash in challenge-ever the Mandalorian, despite her desire for peace and neutrality-and he cannot help but grin against her lips, offering his silent surrender into her capable hands. “Now fucking  _ kiss _ me Obi-Wan Kenobi, kiss me like I know you can.” 

“Of course, Duchess,” he says, hands moving to tangle in her elaborately styled hair; hair pins chime against the stones at her knees, her hair falling in waves over the backs of his scarred hands. “Your wish is my command.”

He kisses her while trying to not think of drowning. To not think of pyres. 

He kisses her like this is a time of peace and they are not forbidden. 

Her arms lock tight around his neck, her silk clad breasts rubbing over his chest and he wishes he could see them unbound, like the hair spilling down her back now. He wishes, briefly, as their tongues meet in a long-familiar dance before she moves her mouth to nip at his jawline, her nose rubbing through his beard, that he was anything but a Jedi. 

That war was not something he was so good at.

“Come,” she whispers, when they break apart, their chests heaving as they seek to catch their breath, to keep themselves from falling to the soft grass of her palace’s gardens. “You need a bath. And I need some fresh pins for my hair.” 

He can’t help but laugh quietly at that and she smacks his chest. “Must you always do your best at taking me apart in broad daylight, Master Jedi?” 

Her eyes are sparkling, he notes as he strokes her flushed cheek before bending to gather the few hairpins he can see shining through the short blades of grass. He smiles to himself, turning her gently before him and gathering her pale golden hair in his hands. 

“I do so love seeing you in shambles, Duchess,” he murmurs in her ear, smirking when she gasps and arches slightly back against him the moment his teeth close on her earlobe. “It shows who you truly are, beneath the silks and that chilly mask you try so desperately to keep in place.” 

“Obi,” she whispers, her voice trembling and she tries to turn back to face him, but he keeps her head locked in place, his hands tangled in her hair once more.

“Stay still, Satine. It’s my job to put you back together,” he chides, his fingers moving to twist her hair into a simple braid he then twines along the fine bones of her skull, pins locking each strand in place. 

For a moment he is reminded of the early days of Anakin’s apprenticeship, when the small boy knelt much like the woman was doing now between his boots. His hair had slipped through his fingers, into the Padawan braid he had been so proud to wear and Obi-Wan misses that.

Misses being allowed to care for his loved ones.  

His fingers hesitate on the braid he holds now, light blonde instead of honey, and his heart lurches in his chest, the memories almost too much for him to bear. 

The wishes are empty things, the pastimes of an aging fool.

“I’ve failed you, my love,” he says and he’s shaking again, the fatigue he can never escape threatening to overwhelm him. “I cannot...I cannot see the end of this.”

“Stop that Ben,” Satine, growls, her hands rising to rest on his, her fingers gripping his wrists tightly. “Stop that this instant.” 

“I-I can’t,” he whispers, and he’s resting his head on that braid now, his nose flaring as her scent washes over him and suddenly all he can do is cry. 

Cry as he holds the one person in this entire galaxy who understands what they are losing every damn day. 

“Oh Obi,” Satine sighs, tugging him onto the grass behind her and pulling his arms around her chest. He buries his face in the juncture of neck and shoulder and sobs her name. Whispers apologies to her, to the men he has lost. To the planets that have fallen, day after day. 

“You do not deserve this sadness,” she whispers as he holds her tightly in his arms. 

And that...that he agrees wholeheartedly with.

No one deserves the Darkness the entire universe seems to be drowning in. 

**

“Are you sure we should be the ones going after him, Master?”

Anakin glances up from the datapad he holds, the projected route they’re taking to Mandalore glowing on its surface, and frowns at his Padawan.

“What  _ exactly  _ are you asking, Snips?” he snaps, running his fingers through his hair for a distracted moment. “We’re the only ones  _ left _ , the only ones who can get Obi-Wan back, without ending up on Mace’s casualty list.”

Ahsoka shifts at his words and rests her elbow on R2-D2’s scuffed dome. A small frown crinkles her brow and she glances out the viewscreen of the Hyperion shuttle. “Can we though, Master? Get Master Obi-Wan back? He...he loved Satine. And this...he might not  _ want _ to come back, not anymore.”

Her voice is soft. 

The emptiness in their minds resonate with her words. 

The bond the two of them share with Obi-Wan has been quiet for days.

_ Broken _ . 

Anakin tries not to poke at it, tries not to compare the feeling to a rotten tooth just begging to be pulled, the space empty and gaping with its removal.

His head hasn’t been this quiet since Qui-Gon’s death.

Or maybe since that day on Tatooine when he held his mother’s body and let his own Darkness dig its claws into his soul. 

He shivers and turns back to the pad, not answering his Padawan’s question right away. 

Because honestly…

“I don’t have an answer for you, Ahsoka,” he whispers finally. And if his hands shake a bit, the Force would forgive him. “But we are going to try. I can’t give up on Obi-Wan yet. He has  _ never _ given up on me. So I’m going to go to Mandalore and I’m going to fight to get my Master back. That’s all I  _ can _ do **,** and damn the Council for thinking otherwise.”

He swipes his finger across the screen, removing the map he has memorized from too many trips to Mandalore with his Master and his own Padawan. His wife, more recently.

They’d gone to the planet quite a bit over the past few years-always on some sort of excuse. Protecting the Duchess against assassins. Trade negotiations. Death Watch containment. Pre Viszla. 

A birthday. 

A stop for fuel, even though Mandalore was always out of the way of  _ everything _ . And the shuttle was fueled up enough for a trip to Coruscant and Hoth and back. 

A feeling.

Always a feeling. 

Memories of his Master laughing as he told Anakin and Ahsoka where they were off to wash over him and his heart clenches. 

Who was he to judge the man on what- _ who _ -made him happy?

They w **e** re at war. 

And Mandalore had always meant a respite. A soft bed to rest in.

A dinner full of barbed and yet, as was only possible with those two, cordial commentary. 

_ The two of them suit each other better than they will ever be able to admit, to the Council or to her people. Maybe even themselves. And that is the saddest thing I have ever witnessed, _ Padme had said the last time the four of them had been together in Sundari. He had silently agreed, reaching out to hold her hand and tug her into his arms.

_ Fucking Council… _

_ You will neutralize Kenobi, Skywalker, _ Mace had said when the skeleton Council had finally agreed to letting him and Ahsoka go to Mandalore. As if the Masters would have been able to stop him.  _ If he has truly Fallen then he is lost to us and you  _ must _ stop him from destroying the rest of the planet and its people. The man has cut a swathe through the puppet government and with Maul’s escape we fear he might move on to more... _ extreme _ measures as his revenge.  _

_ Stop him, you must, Padawan Tano _ ,  _ Knight Skywalker, _ Yoda’s holo had said, his voice sad, his ears dipped low. 

Never had Anakin seen the tiny Master so exhausted.

Never had he felt such...despair from any of the Jedi. 

_ Yes, Masters, _ he’d said, bowing both out of respect and in the hopes of hiding his own anger he was sure shone from his eyes.  _ I will do my best to bring Obi-Wan back to us. _

They hadn’t been the right words-not in their eyes, of course-but they had been the right words for his soul.

For his sanity.

_ I will get you back, Master. I will remind you that you are  _ not _ alone in this. That Satine would not want you to grieve like this. Believe me, Master.  _

Trust _ me. _

Their bond is quiet **,** a shadow of pain and sorrow in that far corner of his mind and he turns away, focusing on the bright cord of happiness and trust stretching between him and his own Padawan.

_ Thank you for coming with me Snips, _ he sends along that bond, smiling absently when she rolls her eyes a few feet away and projects back her put-upon love for him. 

_ Like I’d let you come without me... _

The moment he swipes the datapad’s screen with the tip of his gloved finger, a grainy holo appears and Anakin’s fingers tighten on the pad’s slim sides. The blue hides some of the grime he knows covers the man projected before them. Hides the colors of the dented Mando armor he still wears, days after sneaking onto the planet for his lover’s rescue. 

The blue doesn’t hide the intensity of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes though. 

Nothing could ever hide the fury and loss radiating from their depths.

The holo may be blue, but his Master’s eyes are a baleful, rotten yellow, ringed by red.

He realizes then, that he’s going to have to kill Obi-Wan. 

_ The Sith is the enemy. A Jedi must always kill the enemy. To protect the Innocent.  _

_ “ _ We’ll get him back Snips. I swear to you. We’ll get Obi-Wan back.”

**

Maul escapes. 

Again. 

“A ship was waiting for the damn Zabrak and his companion on the lower levels of Sundari. I couldn’t get to him in time. I’m sorry Kenobi.” 

Bo-Katan Kryze’s voice echoes eerily in the cave they’ve claimed as their base of operations and he spares her a glance before turning back to the holomap he holds.

Sundari spreads before him, lined in blue and he frowns. 

He hadn’t truly expected the Mandos to stop Maul; the Sith was powerful, dangerously so. And they’d seen the bastard with another, smaller hooded figure of late. The two together had reeked of corruption and Darkness. 

Obi-Wan had watched them dispassionately and wondered if killing two Sith would be enough to calm the rage burning through his veins.

Somehow...he rather thought it wouldn’t. 

_ Pity. _

“Tomorrow, I want you to take the Owls into the lower level of the city and start setting the charges. Work your way up through the city, but leave the palace for me. I have something specific planned for it. It should be relatively simple work for you and your team. You’ve been doing this sort of thing for years,” he says, shifting in his dead man’s boots and zooming the map in on a lower level of the city. 

She shifts, her armor creaking and he tenses, already bracing for what comes next.

“You know, Kenobi, if you keep this level of carnage and destruction up, someone is going to notice. Whether it’s the Republic or the Separatists, doesn’t really matter. Do you want that? Do you want your Council to come for you, probably with the best Jedi they can muster, to take you out?”

Bo-Katan moves to stand before him and crosses her arms over her scarred chest plate.

He cocks an eyebrow in her direction and snorts. “The Council will not do that, Kryze. Mace Windu and Yoda know better than to send anyone here to stop me,” he says, his eyes locked on the glowing red dot denoting the location of the biggest guard base. 

She squats so she is eye level, forcing him to look at her, which he does begrudgingly; she doesn’t wince when she catches sight of the shadows he knows circle his eyes. Nor does she look away from the sickly golden they have become. 

Sith eyes.

He knows what the corruption leaking from his body means for him.

_ Death waits for the Fallen. _

“If the Jedi come for you, they will take over Mandalore. That is not what my sister wanted for our home. For our people. So what are you going to do?” the red-haired woman asks, reaching out to cup his cheek; her hands are callused. Rough from too much fighting.

She has her sister’s nose. 

The full lower lip.

The eyes are different colors-a sharp green instead of icy blue- but they are just as intense as Satine’s had been, when she’d been faced with adversity. 

_ Clan Kryze makes strong women _ , he thinks, even as he raises his hand to circle Bo-Katan’s wrist.  _ And they will never come back to their ancestral lands. Not after this war. _

“The Jedi will not come to this planet,” he says softly. 

Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t move away from him, her palm still cupping his cheek and she hisses at him in Mando’a. He ignores her words, pulling her closer, the holomap casting her face in a sickly blue light; he snaps it off and tosses it in the corner of the cave where their gear lies in a jumble. She winces at the clatter it makes but she doesn’t drop her hand. And he doesn’t drop his. 

Obi-Wan’s head tilts and he sighs. “I know Mace and Yoda are not stupid enough to send the Jedi to bring me back because there is no one left in the Order capable of stopping me.”

Something flickers in the depths of her sharp green eyes. Something that reminds him a bit of grief.

No.  _ Fear. _

“They will come for you Obi-Wan. The Sith...the Sith are a danger to them and their precious Order,” she whispers and her voice, his name on her lips…

The fear he can feel welling in her slender form reminds him of something else.  _ Someone _ else.

For a moment it’s Satine kneeling before him, blue eyes wild with terror. With the knowledge that soon she will be dead. And there was nothing he could have done. Save come to her sooner.

Save, be with her from the very beginning, like she had asked of him when they were children.

For a moment it’s Satine saying his name, her palm cupping his cheek. 

For a moment…

He is not kneeling in a musty cave tucked deep in the mountains, but in an elegantly appointed throne room that had once smelled like flowers but would forever be tainted Darkness now.

Like him.

Satine had been the last one to run her fingers through his hair. The last one to stroke his cheek with her thumb.

She had said she’d loved him, that day in her palace. 

_ Did I tell her how much I loved her that day? Did I get the chance to tell her before Maul-before she died _ ? he thinks, even as he gazes blankly into her sister’s eyes. 

_ Why didn’t I go to her sooner? _

_ Why was I not at her side, through  _ all _ of this? _

_ Because I am a Jedi. _

_ And love is forbidden.  _

_ I failed her... _

Bo-Katan’s thumb strokes the hollow beneath his eye, her hand moving to cup his jaw and she frowns a bit, eyes searching his for...something. 

Maybe for sanity. 

Maybe for grief.

Maybe for anything that wasn’t pure and unadulterated fury. 

“She loved you, you know,” she says quietly, her voice soft and so very broken. “When we were girls, she would speak of you often.” She smiles, her hold on his face still gentle, even with her fingers pressing into the nerve beneath his jaw. “She drove me to distraction once you left Mandalore with your tall Master. She spoke of how clear your eyes were. Of how the beads in your braid matched your Master’s saber blade. Of how you’d laugh, every time you tripped over your feet while training with Jinn and that it was the most precious thing she’d ever seen.” She rolls her eyes at that and he’s leaning into her touch now, some part of him longing for her voice.

For her memories.

For Satine’s name on her lips, spoken aloud. 

His breath freezes in his chest and his grip on her wrist tightens but she ignores him and continues, her thumb still stroking the bruised skin beneath his eye. “She begged our councilors for a trip to Coruscant. For them to recall you. They refused of course. She was the Duchess. And you were a Jedi. That was the height of impropriety.” 

“I would have come to her,” he says, his voice rasping on the words. On the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

She nods, smiling. “I know you would have Obi-Wan. You always came back to her, when Satine asked it of you.”

The words...they call to mind a different time. 

Of her sister, lying naked in his bed. 

_ I will always come back to you, you know that Satine.  _

_ I know, Obi.  _

And later, Satine standing in his bedroom doorway, her face turned in profile and anger lighting her pale eyes.

_ Empty promises, Obi-Wan. That is all your words are… _

_ I have never lied to you Satine!   _

His stomach twists again, acid building in his throat but he cannot stop seeing her.  _ Hearing  _ her. Her anger. Her hurt.

Her  _ betrayal. _

“She wanted you to abandon the Order and stand with her, Obi-Wan,” Bo-Katan whispers, her fingers curling into his jaw and the words…

Her eyes, similar in shape, if not in color, to her sister’s, are full of her own particular grief.

He snarls at that cruel memory-at Bo-Katan’s words- and his anger washes through him once more, twisting and wild. Untamed fury controls him now and he revels in it, letting it spill into his fingers, into the hand he raises between them. 

His fingers curl around empty air, circling into a cruel grip and his eyes flash golden and sickly in the cave’s dim light.

Bo-Katan gasps, desperately trying to back away but his hold on her wrist is too tight.

And as the Force howls around them, whipping the worn jacket he wears over his stolen armor and pushes his hair into his strange eyes, she raises her free hand to her throat.

“Obi,” she chokes, her eyes bulging as they shift from his face to his raised hand. To the hand she knows is somehow ridding her of life without ever touching her. “Please-you need me for the-for the plan.”

His lips curl at her plea, at the life he can feel leaking steadily from her slender body. The Force screams in his ears, even as his fury eggs him on. It begs him to do this. To finish her. To let the Darkness claim her once and for all. 

To claim it for  _ him. _

The General.

The  _ Master. _

“Do I though?” he whispers and he stands, hauling her upright so the toes of her boots barely brush the dirt floor of their cave; he tightens his Force grip on her throat to the point where tendons creak under the pressure and her eyes roll back into her head, her body losing this fight before it’s barely had a chance to begin. 

The Darkness sings in his ears and his sneer softens, turning to a gentle smile as he listens to her mind screaming in panic and her body’s struggle to retain life in her failing limbs.

He pulls her close into his arms so his lips brush her ear and he whispers, bones starting to crumple to dust beneath his phantom hold, “I fear I have changed my mind, my dear.”

The sound her body makes as it falls is oddly satisfying and he knows he will feel her hand trailing down his cheek hours later. 

It reminds him of another woman’s dying touch, branding his skin. 

His fury revels in that pain, even as something fragile shatters in his heart. 

“Mandalore pays, in every way it can,” he snarls, raising his head to the dusty winds and listening to the Force whimper in his ears. 

_ I will be sure of that my love... _

**

“If I asked you, would you leave the Order now, Ben?”

They’re in his bed, in his quarters on Coruscant, and Obi-Wan can’t help but reflect, as he traces gentle patterns on her pale skin, that if he ever got caught in this position, leaving the Order would probably be the least of his problems.

“Why would I change my mind now, Satine?” he asks, smiling to himself, his fingers trailing over the gently rounded planes of her belly upwards to her breast. 

Her skin bumps with his touch and a soft sigh escapes as she pushes herself into his hand, the movement perfectly wanton. “Because you’re lying here, sated and post-coital, in my bed, you fool,” she purrs, her fingers trailing through his tousled hair, her eyes contented slits.

His dimly lit bedroom smells like sex. Of the expensive Corellian brandy she’d brought on the pretense of thanking him for his assistance with a certain “delicate matter.” The bottle is nearly empty now, sitting on the floor beside the bed, surrounded by her fine silks and the rough wool of his robes. 

His bed smells like her, musky and that particularly spicy floral scent he’s only ever smelled when he’s been in her presence on Mandalore.

The bedclothes will smell like her for days after her leaving, he thinks to himself, pleased despite the distraction it will undoubtedly cause him. 

“Funny,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his lips closing around the rosy peak of her nipple; she gasps, her fingers yanking lightly at his hair and he places his free hand on her hip, stopping her from arching further into his mouth. “I thought I had you sated and blissed out in  _ my _ bed, Duchess.” 

He sucks at the delicate bud, smiling to himself as she gasps his name, her hand cupping the back of his skull, keeping him firmly in place over her body, and he can’t help but think that this…

This is what the Light side should feel like. 

Soft and warm.

_ Safe _ .

“Please, Obi,” she whispers, eyes fluttering when his hand moves from her hip to cup her mound, the golden curls still damp with their mixed orgasms; his thumb trails along her slit, making her writhe, still unbearably sensitive, but he uses the Force to keep her in place and she moans at the phantom fingers touching her. “Please, come back with me. I-I love you,” she breathes, her face tilted down so she can see what his mouth and fingers are doing to her body. 

It has been many years since she first asked this of him but the question still wounds. Still claws itself into his psyche at night when he considers the Force and the path he has been forced to tread.

_ Would you leave the Order if I asked it of you, Ben? _

_ I cannot, Satine... _

He sighs and starts to pull away, regret replacing some of the brandy-and-sex fueled contentment he’d felt until that moment. 

“Satine, I-” 

Pale blue eyes, fierce in the faded light of his room, meet his and she sighs, running her fingers through his hair before cupping his cheek. 

“My sweet, stubborn Jedi,” she says, her voice tight with grief. Anger. Her eyes well with tears, which she tries to hide but he knows her too well. Knows every facial expression she makes. Knows her body better than his own. “I am sorry. I should not push you like this. I-” 

He has never been able to resist Satine Kryze’s tears. 

He growls, gripping her wrist and turning his head enough to plant a heated kiss to her palm, before gathering both of her hands in his and forcing them over her head.

“I love you Satine,” he says, his voice rough and his eyes are stinging with his own tears. They fall, to trickle over his cheeks and into his beard but he doesn’t care. He bares all for this woman. Every time. He owes her that much, a thousand times over. “I  _ love _ you. More than I love my Order. More than my own Padawan and  _ his _ Padawan. You. It has  _ always _ been you, since that first day I saw you in Sundari.” 

_ You were the most stunning being I had seen in my 15 years. I drove my Master insane with my thoughts of you every day I spent in your company. _

“Obi…”

“You, Satine,” he sighs, nuzzling the tender skin beneath her ear. “Do not doubt me.” 

Their eyes meet as he levers himself over her; he eases her thighs apart with his knee, lowers his head to feather kisses over her forehead, her nose, the sharp shelves of her cheeks. Her jaw. 

“You,” he whispers each time he kisses her. “It has always been you. I love you. I love you. I will love you until I go into the Force.”

_ You. _

She cries his name as phantom hands trail over her body, the Force so  _ alive _ she can feel it breathing all around them and she whimpers when he touches her with his thoughts. 

_ I give myself to you, woman. Haven’t you realized that? I gave myself to you that day you kissed me when I still wore Qui-Gon’s braid. My soul belongs to you. _

_ My  _ heart  _ belongs to you. _

_ I will come to you whenever you ask it of me. _

_ I will lay myself at your feet, if that is what you require.  _

“I love you, Satine. My fierce, beautiful Duchess. I  _ love you. _ ”

He kisses down her throat, still saying aloud the words she’d probably never thought he’d ever bring himself to say and tears leak from the corner of her eyes. 

“Obi,” she moans, her legs spreading for those phantom fingers feathering along her entrance and her clit; his own hands move from her wrists to tangle in her hair, to trail along her flanks, to cup her breasts once more. 

He touches her, with desperation. With longing. Memorizing her curves, the faint scars that make up who she is. 

He touches her with the Force and with war-roughened hands, trying not to think that this will be the last time he will be able to hold her like this. 

This is the last time she will belong, truly, to him.

She sobs when he pinches her nipples between cruel, callused fingers and the Force touch brushes her hair from her face, wipes her tears away. 

“Touch me,” she whispers, eyes meeting his over her flushed body. “Touch me and-and don’t think on tomorrow, my love.”

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow with its intrigues and miserable bloodshed. On-and-on, this damn war tearing the galaxy apart.

He tries to not think on drowning.

“Your wish, my darling,” he whispers, his hand moving from her hair to spread her labia, and she cries out wordlessly when his fingers take her with a hard thrust. “Is my only command.” 

“Ben,” she sighs when he fills her finally, his cock stretching her almost to the point of breaking, their bodies fitting together in such a way that makes the Force sing in his ears. “This is good enough.”

_ Good enough. I am...content. _

The Force moves around them, bright and golden and  _ warm _ , caressing them as their bodies rock together and it blinds him. Blinds him as much as her disheveled beauty and he groans, bending his head to take her lips in a fierce, claiming kiss. 

_ I will always come back to you when you ask, Satine. _

Her eyes are bright with tears when the kiss breaks and as the Force turns to a roar of expectation around them, she rests her hand on his cheek.

“I know you will, my fierce Jedi,” she whispers, her body arching into his, setting his skin alight and the dark wave of orgasm crashes down around them both, taking them under. 

It’s funny how he thinks of drowning, but with her in his arms, he doesn’t fear it. 

When the first light of dawn finally starts to cast his room in its grey glow he wakes to her lips on his. 

“I have to go, Obi,” she says, smiling when he winces and groans; she bats his hand away from her freshly styled hair and nips at his jawline in silent scolding. “Your Knight and his Padawan will be here to reclaim you for the Council soon, I imagine. And you need to flush the rest of that brandy from your system. Lush.” 

“Witch,” he groans, his eyes squinted closed against the light; he smiles when she catches his hand and presses a light kiss to its palm. “Your backwater brandy did this to me.”

She laughs at that, leaning in to kiss him once more. “That was all you, darling. You’re getting old. I remember a time when your tolerance was a thing to be feared.” 

“Must have been something other than the alcohol then,” he growls, his hands moving to rest at her hips; he pulls her into his lap, smirking when she shrieks his name and swats him ineffectively.

Silk and velvet washes over his sensitive skin and he shivers when her scent threatens to overwhelm him once more. 

“Don’t go, not yet,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to her eyelids. Her nose.

The pulse jumping in her throat. 

_ Not yet. _

_ Stay with me... _

“I must,” she whispers, her voice cracking and he can feel her desire, her longing. Her grief. “My shuttle will be arriving soon, to take me back to my ship. I can’t-I can’t stay.”

_ I have stayed too long as it is. This...Us...it is not meant to be, I know that now. _

He catches the thought and she takes advantage of his shocked hurt to slip free of his hands. 

“I am sorry, Obi,” she whispers, turning away from his bed. 

Away from him. 

“Satine, I-” he says, sitting up and reaching for her hand but she shakes her head, the headdress she wears chiming softly as the crystals catch the faint sunlight. 

“Obi,  _ don’t. _ I can’t...I wouldn’t be able to stand the empty promises today,” she whispers.

He watches her sweep towards his door and he raises his hand, reaching through the Force to grab her by the wrist. 

“Empty promises?” he growls, a coil of anger spreading through his voice. “Is that what you think that was, last night? Me, just saying words to get you in my bed. Anything to  _ fuck  _ you?”

His words are harsh but he can see what she thinks of them in her profile. 

“Sith,  _ hells _ Satine!” 

The Force is trembling around them, dark limning its usual golden threads and he barks out a laugh, running his free hand over his face. Through his beard, which is in desperate need of a trim.

“Let go of me Obi-Wan,” she hisses, her eyes flaring with her own particular brand of fury. “I will not abide your hungover temper.”

She strains against his hold but even with a pounding headache and too much brandy in his system, his control of the Force is unending.

He tightens his hold on her delicate wrist, ignoring her wince. 

“I do not make empty promises, Duchess,” he says, rising from the bed; he doesn’t bother to cover himself and she flushes, avoiding his gaze. “I have  _ never _ lied to you, in the twenty years we have known each other, woman, and you  _ know _ that.”

_ How can I lie to you? You own me… _

She stiffens at that and turns to face him, her hands balled in fists and she nearly breaks the hold on her wrist before he tightens his shields. 

“Own you?  _ Me,  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi?” she laughs at that, harsh and bitter and he winces, some of his own anger waning as her pain and hurt washes through him. “Own you-surely you are joking?”

Her blue eyes are ice, chilling and calculating and she smacks him lightly in the chest with her free hand. He winces; the blow doesn’t hurt him physically but mentally he can feel her pain. Can feel it through the Force and he tries to let go of his anger.

Without letting go of her. 

_ I cannot lose her. Not like this... _

“You are owned by none but those blind,  _ stupid _ men and women in that blasted chamber you sit in every day while this galaxy burns and innocents die,” she hisses, jerking her head away from the hand he raises to stroke her cheek. 

_ You are owned by cruelty and dogma. Not I, my love. Never me _ , she thinks and gods…

He hears her.  __

Sweet Maker, he  _ hears  _ her. 

He releases his Force grip on her and she gasps, taking a small step back, her other hand rising to rub the bruises starting to appear on her pale skin. 

“Satinine, I-” he whispers, reaching for her but she shakes her head and spits, “No more Ben. No more. I’m...I’m _done._ _We_ are done.”

She sweeps from the room, her gown rustling with each step she takes and her words echo in his skull, deafening him. 

He can do nothing but stare after her, his hand suspended foolishly in the air, uselessly reaching for her but there’s no point.

She leaves him.

And he doesn’t stop her. 

Just like always.

“Forgive me, Satine,” he says for the thousandth time in their lives, burying his face in his hands as he sags to the floor at the foot of his bed, but he knows…

This time, she will not. 

_ You’ve lost her, you damn idiot. Lost her forever… _

This time when he thinks on drowning, he loses a bit of himself.

**

Mandalore burns. 

Obi-Wan watches the smoke billowing from the lower levels of Sundari and tries to feel something. 

Anything.

But there is nothing to feel anymore.

Just...emptiness.

“They didn’t even bury her in state, you know,” he says when he hears boots scuff in the sand behind him; he doesn’t turn to face the ones who have come to bring him back to the Council for judgment.

_ Can’t _ face them. 

He’s failed the woman he’s loved since they were children, in the worst way imaginable.

This is his penance.

And Mandalore is his confessional. 

“They didn’t even give her the honor of a decent burial in the family tombs. Just left her body to rot in the throne room. Left it to be a plaything of Sith,” he whispers, his voice cracking and broken. His eyes sting-whether from the sand or the smoke or yet another round of blasted kriffing tears, he can’t tell-but he ignores that as well.

“Master…”

Anakin’s voice is soft, pleading. 

They’ve been following him for days now, always three steps behind, silent witnesses to his destruction and all too efficient grief. 

Mandalore’s smoke chokes them, he can hear Anakin’s ragged breathing and wonders why he feels nothing, despite having caused... 

Well, all of this, really.

“Master, you need to  _ stop  _ this. It isn’t-It isn’t what Satine would want. You  _ know _ that.” 

Her name washes over him and for a moment he sees what he has become-a madman hellbent on revenge-and he sobs her name, holding it close to his heart. Like he’d once done with the woman herself. 

_ I would have left the Jedi Order, had you asked it of me, Satine… _

_ I am asking now, Ben. _

“I can’t…” 

His knees try to buckle, the dead man’s beskargam he wears suddenly too heavy **.** He raises his head enough to see the palatial towers of Sundari **,** gleaming over the baleful billows of smoke gathering around the palace’s base. 

“I can’t,” he snarls and the Force howls around him, dark and wild.

Untamed. 

Something laughs in the back of his skull **-** ratcheting, broken cackles.

And it sounds a bit like him...

Anakin screams his name, the words ripped from his throat **,** and he thinks **,** maybe, his Padawan is trying to reach for his hand. Trying to drag him back to the ship he’s landed out here on the plains. A quiet growl escapes his lips at that and he  _ pushes _ with the Force, his lips curling when Anakin yelps; a faint feeling of pain follows, trickling through the bond they still share **,** despite his best attempts at severing it. 

_ Leave me, Padawan, _ he thinks, raising his head to the Force and letting the winds whip his hair about his cheeks. Dust and smoke swirl around his mud and bloodstained boots, another layer of grit that seems to be his lot in life anymore, here on this godforsaken hell of a planet. 

_ This is no place for the Light. Not anymore. Mandalore does not deserve it. They killed her. Killed what little good there was left on this world... _

_ Master, please.  _ Please, _ think on what you’re doing. Mandalore-Mandalore was neutral, under Satine. She wanted-wanted  _ peace.  _ You’re...you’re destroying what she died for, Obi-Wan. _

His Padawan’s words burn through him like fire, fierce and bright and  _ cruel _ . 

But he doesn’t care, not anymore. Not ever. 

He embraces the darkness he has grown so familiar with these past few days while hunting Sith and Death Watch alike **,** and lets it chase the numbness he’s felt since Satine’s murder from his fingers.

“I can’t let this lie, Anakin,” he says aloud, mostly to the Darkness that whispers gleefully around him, caressing his sun and dirt blasted skin and there is nothing Light in his actions. 

Not anymore.  

Without sparing a single thought for his Padawan, for the Force or for the memory of the woman he failed, he raises his hand, clenched in a tight fist around the slim metal device he holds, and without taking his eyes from the still intact palace-

_ NO! Master! _

-he presses the red glowing button at its top. 

Mandalore is burning.

And Sundari falls to his tender mercy ten nights after Duchess Satine Kryze’s murder. 

_ Mandalore will pay. _

**

“There’s an incoming transmission from an unknown sender on the planet, Master.”

Anakin groans and lowers the rag he has stuffed against his nose, opening his eyes as Ahsoka drops onto the bunk beside him, jostling him. 

She smirks at his soft curse, her head lowered over the datapad and he rolls his eyes, reaching out to tug lightly at her beads. 

_ Troublesome Padawan. _

_ Always, Master. I was raised by the best, after all. _

“Encrypted?” he asks aloud, wincing as he shifts over on the bunk to give her some more room and she grins, settling against his side. 

“Mmm,” she hums, resting the pad on his chest before perching her elbows on his stomach; he huffs a breath but doesn’t protest. “Artoo is running the codes. It’s Mandalorian in origin. But from whom, I’m not sure.”

His brow arches and he rests his hand on her leg, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her leggings as he considers her words. 

“If it’s Mandalorian it might be one of the rebels, the Night Owls, who’s trying to reach us,” he says slowly and Ahsoka hums again settling more firmly against him. He frowns and swipes the rag over his nose once more, sighing when it comes away still bloody. “Obi-Wan is-is working with them. I saw one with him before he…”

_ He tried to kill me. Obi-Wan...he would have if you hadn’t pulled me out of there, Snips. _

Ahsoka winces and tangles her fingers with his. 

“You tried, Anakin,” she says quietly. “You tried to help him.” 

He grinds his teeth and clutches her hand as tightly as he can, seeking her comfort. Seeking the peace she carries but he knows he will never find within his own soul. 

“I didn’t try hard enough. I failed him  _ again _ , like I always have,” he grits out, the words bitter and harsh on his tongue. She protests his words, their bond thrumming with her love and their memories but he ignores her.  “I owe him peace though, Ahsoka, even if it’s a peaceful death-one the other Jedi will not give him.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen. “Anakin-” she starts to say but the datapad emits a shrill beep before she can and she jumps. She stares at its screen for a moment, a single line of Mando’a text shining in blue up at her and she swallows nervously. “It-it cleared. Artoo got the encryption figured out.”

Anakin stares at the pad as well, something telling him that whatever the message is, it cannot be good.

That it will change everything they have ever known about their Master. 

“You-you better open it Snips. It’s important,” he says and his grip on her fingers is almost too painful now. But she doesn’t try to extricate her fingers. She simply takes a deep breath and grips his hand back. 

“Okay,” she whispers and something whispers along her consciousness that this-

This might doom them. 

“ _ Skywalker, _ ” a voice says as a holographic figure materializes before them in a burst of static and wavering lines. “ _ My name is Bo-Katan Kryze and I do not have much time. _

_ Your Master has Fallen and he is going to try and drag my people down with him.” _

The Mandalorian standing before them is armored in the familiar beskargam and her helmet is off. 

Anakin had never met Pre Viszla’s lieutenant but he had heard stories of Satine Kryze’s younger sister from Obi-Wan.

The armor he knew from too many skirmishes with Death Watch, Obi-Wan and Satine at his back, snippy commentary providing the soundtrack to their conflicts.

And those eyes. 

He knows those eyes. 

_ I have a bad feeling about this... _

“ _ My sister had a secret and she did not tell Obi-Wan Kenobi before her death, _ ” Bo-Katan’s holo continues and she glances over her shoulder towards something he and Ahsoka cannot see. When she turns back her voice is pitched lower, the urgency of her words not lost on them. _ “It was not...was not something she wanted him to know of while he still served your Order. I cannot tell you in this message, as it is far too important, but I can provide the means for you to find it. Please, Anakin Skywalker, help me. You are Mandalore’s only hope.  _

_ Your Master  _ must _ be stopped. For my sister’s sake, if not the planet’s. Do it for Satine.”  _

The hologram stutters, her figure wavering in static and she curses in Mando’a again, reaching forward. 

_ “He’s coming. This will be the last you see of me, I fear. He has...he has death in his eyes. Skywalker. Remember that. Your Master is gone. _

_ He is beyond saving now.”  _

The holo vanishes and the two Jedi stare at the space where the blue figure had stood a moment before, her transmitted words echoing through the Force and in their minds. 

_ He is beyond saving now.  _

_ No. He can’t... _ I  _ can’t lose him. Not like this. I can’t. _

_ Master… _

The datapad chimes again and Ahoska drags her eyes from Anakin’s closed off expression to the slender device. 

Another message in Mando’a is glowing there and her finger shakes only a bit when she presses the words, opening it.

Blue light once more fills the cramped space, flickering as the image unfolds and Ahsoka gasps.

“It’s a map, Master, leading to the High Mand’lor Plains,” she says, her eyes wide as she takes in the holo spreading before them. “I think-I think this might be the ancestral lands for one of the Clans. But why-” 

Anakin’s eyes narrow as he takes in the valley and laughs, his voice harsh. 

“Sith hells, Snips,” he mutters, throwing his legs over the edge of his bunk. “I know where Bo-Katan is taking us and we need to hurry if we’re going to get there before Obi-Wan does.”

“Obi-Wan, Master? What-what does Master Obi-Wan have to do with this map?!” 

Anakin hesitates in the doorway, his gloved hand holding his comm and he winces. 

“Everything, Snips,” he says quietly. “Everything.”

He sweeps from his quarters and she hears him calling Rex and ordering their small task force of 501st and 212th to arms. 

“ _ Better recall Cody, Rex. We’re going to need him.  _ I’m  _ going to need him to help me talk Obi-Wan down. _ ”

“Down from what?” Ahsoka asks the map.

It doesn’t answer of course and she stares at the blue lines for a moment, her mind spinning as she thinks on Satine’s sister’s words.

And the memories of her grand-Master’s crazed eyes glaring at them through the smoke that seemed to be drowning Mandalore’s atmosphere. 

It’s then, that she sees the sigil glowing in the valley with a name written in Mando’a beneath it. 

_ Clan Kryze. _

“What am I missing?” she whispers, her finger rising to stroke the glowing symbol.

_ What… _

“Oh no....” 

**

The little girl has tawny brown eyes. 

She doesn’t cry, despite the screams that had filled her morning.

Despite the blood staining her blankets. 

A true Mandalorian.

Her mother would be horrified. 

“Brown eyes,” the man standing over her murmurs, his teeth starkly white against the blood crusting his beard and splattered across his face. “Now wherever did you pick up brown eyes, young one? Your mother’s family all went for blues and greens. Mine as well...”

His voice is soft, no sign of the growl that had been his constant companion for the past two weeks. His eyes flash gold in the light of the fires surrounding them, but it is not the gold of corruption. 

For the first time since Mandalore’s fall, the Darkness doesn’t press so hard upon his head. 

He can feel her in the Force, a fierce echo of her mother and for a moment he can almost smell Satine through the smoke. Can almost hear her saying his name. For a moment…

They are a family.

The baby coughs then, breaking him of his Force vision (dream...wish); her eyes squeeze closed as the smoke swirls around them and he balances her carefully in one arm, reaching up to tug the scarf he has wrapped around his face and head, free. 

“Apologies,” he murmurs, wrapping the rough fabric around her face. “I should have thought...I fear I have no real experience with babies.” 

Those brown eyes, wide and shot through with amber, gaze up at him, some of her curiosity turning to wariness and he knows that if he doesn’t hurry her away from this place that soon his night will be full of a different set of screams.

“Sleep, precious one,” he murmurs, gloved hand moving slowly over her face, the Force obeying his directions and reaching for her; she giggles, a tiny fist wriggling free of her blanket, fingers stretching towards his own and he can’t help but smile. “None of that now, sweetheart. Sleep, sleep. You have been awake for long enough. Your mother would be furious with me.” 

He can feel another’s presence in the Force, here out on the Mand’lor Plains. It is nearly as dark as his own. Furious and exhausted and so very broken…

So broken…

He knows his Padawan comes for him. 

For the girl.

_ Satine would not wish you to be the toy of Jedis, young one... _

“Your mother tried to keep you safe, tried to keep you hidden from me and the Council,” he murmurs as he begins to make his way through the smoldering Clan hold to his hoverbike. He glances at the yawning infant and feels something unfamiliar tug in his chest.

Something he hasn’t felt for a desperately long time. 

Two weeks has never seemed so interminable…

“But as Master Yoda says, do or do not...”

“Put the child down, Master.”

Anakin Skywalker’s voice reaches him through the smoke and Obi-Wan Kenobi snarls silently, his arms tightening around the baby, who whimpers in her sleep and buries her face in his coat. 

“Put the the girl down and let Cody take her back to Satine’s people.” 

Obi-Wan sees them for fleeting moments, the smoke shrouding them as the wind picks up; Cody’s orange and white armor stands out in the gloom, a stark contrast to the darkness, but Anakin…

Anakin has always been good at hiding in shadows. 

Obi-Wan can sense him prowling along the edges of the firelight, circling him, looking for an opening. For a chance to rush him, without harming the child. 

He’s trained Anakin Skywalker well.

But even his Padawan will not stop him in this.

“There’s no one left,” Obi-Wan says in the meantime, his lips curling into the sneer that has become old habit. He tracks Anakin through the Force, keeping his gaze forward, locked on the man he’d called vod on the battlefield. Cody is hunched forward, his helmeted head cocked as if listening for his Commander’s order and this. This is a threat worth paying attention to. The Sith reaches into the Force and pulls the smoke around them, acrid and dark. Let’s it hide him and the girl he supposes he should call daughter. 

He was never meant to be a father.

The man circling him with his saber held tight in his hand is a sign of that...

_ There’s no one left to hide her with, not anymore. Leave me to my work, Anakin,  _ he says silently but the other two hear him and the little girl whimpers again, tears starting to leak from her eyes and onto the scarf shielding her face. 

“Sir,” Cody’s voice cracks through his helmet and the clone takes a slow, sliding step towards him, his hand rising as if to grab the child.

Grab Obi-Wan’s arm.

He hisses and takes a step back; Cody’s head lowers and he sighs. 

“What have you done, General? What have you  _ done _ ?”

Behind them the ancestral lands of Clan Kryze smolder and he should feel guilt. He should feel sorrow for the lives he has ended this night. 

But all he feels is…

Darkness. 

“They fought me,” he snarls and his saber is in his hand, the girl balanced carefully in one arm; her presence in the Force is faint-her Sensitivity is a minute thing and for that he is glad. It will be easier to hide her from the Council.

From Anakin. 

His blue blade ignites with a hiss and sweeps up in a sharp arc to meet the second that has swept silently towards his head. 

He turns, teeth bared in a predatory grin and meets the shocked blue eyes of his Padawan. 

“They failed,” he hisses. 

He doesn’t hear the blaster cock or the release of its bolt until it is too late and the blinding pain of being shot by a damned clone almost makes him laugh.

Until he sees a saber hilt raising over his temple and hears his Padawan’s voice clear and sharp in his head.

_ No Master.  _ You _ failed.  _

_ Everyone.  _

Blessed darkness takes him and he sighs, his arms tightening instinctively around the tawny eyed child he holds. 

_ Anakin will keep you safe, my daughter. _

_ Her name is Sabine, Obi, my love... _

**

Ahsoka and Rex hide the girl with one of the Clans. 

They don’t tell Anakin where they take her and he’s strangely fine with that; the galaxy is a dark place now and the fewer people who know of the heir of Duchess Satine Kryze and Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi the better.

Besides...the thought of Yoda asking him about the girl and forcing him to go back to claim her for the Order sickens him. 

And that is also a strange realization to have.

_ I should be loyal to my Masters...Shouldn’t I want them to claim Obi-Wan’s daughter and train her? Shouldn’t I...be bringing her back to Coruscant, along with him? _

He knows the right answer of course. So he ignores it like he usually does, leaves Ahsoka in charge of the 501st and takes Cody and the 212th back to Coruscant.  

He knows Rex and Ahsoka will help bring order to the war-torn planet. Better than he could ever do these days. 

He is made for war. Not for peace.

His Master trained him too well, on that front.

“Be safe,” Ahsoka says, just before she and Rex step off of the shuttle, Rex carrying the girl Ahsoka has said to call Sabine. 

It’s not exactly subtle, but neither of them miss the faint approval they feel thrumming through the Force around them when she tells him and their men the girl’s name. 

He catches his Padawan’s hand in his own and squeezes it gently, his thumb passing over her knuckles. 

“I always am, Snips,” he says with a ghost of his old cocky smile on his lips. Her humor is a bright point in the darkness that is his mind and when he’s sure Rex is busy cooing at the baby and not paying them any mind, he raises her fist to his lips. “Troublesome brat,” he says, his breath ghosting over her skin and she smirks. 

“Pain-in-the-ass Master,” she quips back and her free hand rises to cup his cheek. “Obi-Wan will come back to you, Anakin,” she whispers, her voice almost lost in the humming of the shuttle’s motors. “He always does, for you.” 

Anakin grits his teeth and turns his face into her touch, her hand still clutched tight in his. 

“I feel like I lost something in this battle though, ‘Soka,” he whispers and his blue eyes are dark with the remembered pain of his master’s loss.

_ I don’t think we’ll be getting the Obi-Wan we know and love back after this. _

She sighs and pats his cheek before extricating her hand from his desperately tightening grip. 

_ We’ll be lucky if we get even a quarter of our old selves back after this War, Master, _ she thinks, her beads chiming softly as she turns her head to meet Rex’s gaze.

Aloud, she says, “We’ll get her somewhere safe-somewhere where her parent’s enemies won’t think to look and then we’ll be back on Coruscant, ready to finish this War once and for all. Don’t worry Master, how can we fail?” 

_ We have Master Obi-Wan back.  _

He watches them head into the smog that wraps Mandalore and feels something strange claw its way along the edges of his conscious.

Something bitter.

Something…

_ Dark _ .

Despite Ahsoka’s words...he’s not even sure they’ll be getting a quarter of their souls back after this War.

How can they?

They’ve become as Dark as the Sith they claim as enemies. 

**

_ 16 years later _

The woman standing before him has tawny brown eyes. 

And she holds a multi-colored Night Owl helmet that he does not recognize.

The nose though...he will dream of that nose until the day he goes into the Force.

“You’re a long way from home, little Mandalorian,” he says, his voice rough from too many years of hard living. 

Something dark stirs in his chest.

He ignores it, just as he has for the past sixteen years.

The woman’s hair is as brightly colored as her armor and he finds himself wondering if it was naturally blonde like her mother’s.

Or red…

Like his had once been.

“How do you know she’s Mandalorian?” the younger Jedi asks as she takes a careful step back from where he stands in the shadows, cloaked and hooded. 

The older Jedi she stands beside is studying him through the Force, probing at his shields, searching for answers he is by no means ready for and the old man pushes gently back, murmuring silently as he does,  _ It’s rude to pry, Caleb. Whatever would Depa say? _

Quickly stifled surprise filters through the Force and the Jedi shifts back, turning his covered eyes towards the young man standing at his back. They share a silent conversation that the old man tries not to listen in on. 

Their shoddy shields make it easy though and he smirks when he hears his old name being said with a measure of shock and surprise.

Always the shock and surprise. 

_ I’ve been on this damned rock for too long. They think I’m a legend. Maker help me Qui-Gon... _

“Talking about people behind their backs is rude as well, Padawan Dume,” he drawls, his eyes once more pulled to the Mando woman watching him warily; the Jedis jump at his words but he ignores them, everything he is and has become focused on the woman. The more he looks at her the more…

The more... 

He sees her mother and aunt in the way she stands, head held high despite her uncertainty, her jaw jutted forward stubbornly. He sees the calculation in her eyes and tries to not think of days in a sunlit throne room, watching an accomplished leader negotiate trade deals as easily as some women cross-stitched. 

He sees Satine Kryze, out here in the godsforsaken desert of Tatooine and wonders if his time has finally come-far too soon. 

“I know you’re Mandalorian, young lady,” he says with a slight tap of his staff on the hard baked rock he stands on. “Because otherwise you’d be dead. That armor,” he points an arthritis twisted finger at her for a moment. “Is an honor to wear for the Old Blood of Mandalore and one only meant for an accomplished warrior. Also, I should note, banned save for those who serve the Empire these days.”

_ Has Sheev finally found his balls and decided to end me once-and-for all, young ones? If he has...he should not have sent children to do his dirty work.  _

Her soft gasp is not lost in the still desert air when his silent voice reaches all three of them; he smiles to himself, bowing his head over the staff he leans a little too hard on these days and watches a familiar play of emotions flicker across her face.

“We haven’t come to kill you Master Kenobi,” the Jedi he’d once known as Caleb says finally, hands rising from his belt, palms out in placation. 

He carries a saber and a blaster, the old man notes with some interest. Different times and all...Whatever would Depa say if she could see her Padawan now... 

“We just want to speak with you. And ask some questions. And I’m called Kanan now, Kanan Jarrus. This is my...Padawan, Ezra.” 

“I know all of that, Caleb,” the old man says, waving the words away with a sniff. He tries to hide his flinch at the name. Tries to calm that shifting darkness in his soul. He ignores the Jedi-they are secondary and he already knows what they want to ask him.

The other though…

She is the more interesting of their little party. 

He asks, part of him desperate to hear her voice. Desperate to hear that old accent he hasn’t heard for so long. Part of him wonders if she will sound like her mother. Or if that is another part of her legacy forever lost. 

“You aren’t here to ask questions though, are you little Night Owl?” 

He wonders what her name is. He wonders how she’s managed to stay hidden for so long, free of the Emperor’s clutches. 

He wonders…

_ Gods Satine,  _ look _ at her,  _ he thinks and his shields slip a bit because Kanan Jarrus’ brow crinkles in a puzzled frown and his blinded face turns towards her. 

The old man doesn’t care though.

He doesn’t care. 

_ She looks so much like you, my love. _

She carries a saber, he realizes suddenly when she turns a bit-almost as if considering running from him-and as the dying sunlight washes her armor in further shades of rose and fire, he recognizes it. 

And something snaps in his mind. 

He doesn’t realize he’s lit his own lightsaber and lunged towards the girl until his blade is halted by the slender green and blue blades of the other two Jedi. 

“You carry  _ that _ blade,” he snarls, that dark something weaving through his words, welling in his old veins. He spits the words, bitter and tasting of ash and glares down at her, his arms still raised over his head. The three sabers hum and crackle in the still dusk air and she is glaring at him, her helmet lying forgotten at her feet. 

The hilt of her saber points in his direction, the blade unactivated and something wild screams in his mind.

Something breaks. 

“You dare to bring that blasted weapon  _ here _ ? To  _ me _ ?!” he snarls and he can feel Kanan and Ezra’s confusion.

He can feel the girl’s dawning comprehension. 

“You-you know what the Dark Saber is?” she asks finally and if he wasn’t being held up by the blades of the other two he’d probably have collapsed the moment she’d spoken. 

As it is his knees buckle and his blade falls from suddenly limp fingers. 

Her voice…

_ Gods, Satine...what have we done? _

“You carry that saber like it’s a trophy, girl,” he says and he’s swaying before them, his hood fallen free of his face and for the first time in sixteen years she sees him. She stares, those strange amber eyes wide and gods...even her brows are the same as her mother’s. “Do you know what it means to you? Truly?” 

She glances at the long hilt she holds and expertly activates the blade; the dark blade hums, the crystals jarring with their energy and his hair stands on end as a weapon that should never have been created in the first place, once more takes its place in the galaxy. 

“It killed my mother, didn’t it?” she asks, sweeping the blade gently in front of them before twirling it slowly. Every sweep it takes crackles with dark energy and the crystals fairly hum in his mind. 

The Dark Saber was a horrifying monster 20 years ago in Pre Viszla’s hands but in his daughter’s?

It’s his nightmare.

“Yes,” he says, his voice a broken rasp and he’s sitting on ground now, his face buried in his hands. “Yes that blade killed your mother. Your mother was-was Satine Kryze.”

He doesn’t watch her turn the blade off. He can’t bear the sight of her holding the cursed thing.

The hilt drops to the ground and metal and leather creaks as she squats beside him, her hand settling on his shoulder. 

“And you’re my father, aren’t you, Obi-Wan?”

He hunches in on himself at her touch-at his name falling gently from her lips and tries to not think of a sunny, ancient garden.

Of his bedroom in Coruscant, smelling like brandy and musk.

Of the sound of his name being whispered on bloody lips, a hand trailing limply through his beard as the Force screamed. 

Of ash and blood, coating his tongue. 

He tries to keep from Falling once more. 

And he raises his faded, ancient eyes to meet hers and smiles through his tears. 

“Hello, my daughter,” he whispers, reaching out with shaking fingers to cup her cheek. “You look so very much like your mother.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Also should note-Anakin still falls in this universe and the end results are still the same. Just Obi is a little darker and sadder than usual. 
> 
> I got lazy and frustrated and decided to end this so yeah...I'm kind of the worst.


End file.
